


Righteousness

by Lyrstzha



Category: Firefly
Genre: Character Study, Character of Color, Dark, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-03
Updated: 2005-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/pseuds/Lyrstzha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than one loose end was left to unravel alone in the black, and they meet—where else?—in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Righteousness

**Author's Note:**

> Now, thanks to the 'ask one of my characters any question' meme, there is a coda to this: [Rosie the barmaid's statement](http://lyrstzha.livejournal.com/32547.html#cutid2).

Afterwards, any bar is good enough, and he doesn't bother going further than the Eavesdown Docks. It isn't quiet there, but the constant raucous din somehow blends into a white noise that's even more peaceful and still than silence. A large, scruffy man with one ear tries to pick a fight with him on the first day, probably emboldened because the Operative wears well-made clothing but no gun. The scruffy man twitches on the floor in the middle of the bar for a long time that night, but he lives. No one intrudes on the Operative's personal space after that.

He's never been drunk before that he can remember, but he likes the weight of the slightly greasy tumbler in his hand, like an anchor for fingers that feel a little lost now, and he thinks that it might be a good time to start. The first few drinks burn his throat and leave a sour taste on his tongue, but by the second day he gets the hang of it. As long as there's nothing of him left, there isn't really anywhere for him to be, so he stays. He sleeps in a small back room, which smells of sweat and mice, when he can manage unconsciousness, and keeps drinking when he can't.

The screen above the bar is still playing the Miranda footage every few hours. No matter how much he drinks, he can still see that with sharp-edged, undiluted clarity. In a perfect world, he thinks, he would be the most terrible monster in the black, but here there still be dragons.

It's the fifth day when the stranger sits down beside him. The stranger doesn't move with the poetic, economical grace of an Operative or a Companion, but there's an overtone of something predatory, feline. The man keeps his right hand free.

"Drink makes a man feel hot-headed, feel reckless, but it actually cools the temperature of his blood." The stranger eyes the Operative sidelong with a measuring gaze.

The Operative ignores him with apparent serenity, and signals for a re-fill.

As the bartender comes over, the stranger leans across the bar to catch her attention. "I'm lookin' for someone travelin' on a ship got fixed up here a week ago. This girl look familiar to you?" The stranger pushes a capture across the bar, but the bartender barely glances at it before shrugging disinterestedly and walking away without so much as a word.

The stranger shakes his head. "Man goes to all manner of trouble to catch a girl crazier than you'll find on any world turnin', and folks can't be bothered with common manners when he asks if they've seen her. That seem right to you?"

The Operative eyes the capture. "No," he says, "it doesn't." He turns to face the stranger. "This girl you're seeking. What has she done?"

The stranger shrugs as he rolls the capture neatly and stows it in one of his pockets. "They tell me she's dangerous, and I know for a fact they ain't wrong. Little girl loves leavin' a man to die slow. That's enough for old Early."

The Operative nods thoughtfully. "Protecting the weak is righteous calling."

Early smiles in a way that bares too many of his teeth. "That it is, even for good pay." He leans closer to the Operative. "But it's a callin' leaves no short of wanderin' the black alone." He slides a hand onto the Operative's thigh with a deliberate casualness. "Even a righteous man could do with a little appreciation, time and again."

The Operative smiles back at Early pleasantly. "I have a room here," is all he says.

The hand settles more firmly on his thigh. "That right? Show me."

As they walk down the narrow, dim hallway, the Operative says, "You mentioned that this girl likes leaving men to die slowly." He pauses at the door to his tiny room to press his thumb against the lock. "You sound as if you speak from personal experience."

Early steps through the door, already undoing the fastening of his pants with precise motions. "In the black, a man can survive only a few minutes after his air runs out. Man takes nine months to live, but only a few moments to die. That seem right to you?"

The Operative smiles at him and steps closer. "Yes," he says softly, sliding a hand over Early's chest and up to his shoulder, "it does." The Operative's hand moves so quickly that the other man doesn't even manage to flinch before the crunch of vertebrae sounds in the small room. "Creation is always infinitely more laborious than destruction." He catches Early in his arms almost tenderly. "I would have given you a more honorable death, but I don't think you deserved it. I'm sorry."

He lays the body gently on the bed before he leaves.

When he comes back to the bar, the footage from Miranda is playing again. The Operative notes with a sense of rising relief that the images seem ever so slightly less sharp. He washes this revelation down with a last drink, and it tastes like a hint of absolution. He beckons the barkeep over and hands her enough money to cover his tab.

She clucks at the money and looks pleased. "That's all you'll be needin', then?"

The Operative smiles at her beatifically. "Yes. I have to be going now."

She doesn't look up from the money, but she still asks offhandedly, "Finally got a job, love?"

"Better," he answers, still smiling. "A righteous calling."


End file.
